I break shit.

I do, I'll be honest. Sometimes there's just nothing quite as satisfying as breaking something into hundreds (or thousands, if you break the right things) of little pieces. When I'm feeling tame, I might just dent a wall with my steel-toed boot, taunt some kids that pass at the wrong time and make them uncomfortable, or knock over some trash cans and leave the litter in the street. When I'm really in the mood, though, I've been known to hurl rocks through people's windows, slash a few tires, and once, but only once, because even I have my limits, I found some shitty yard with a bunch of children's toys in the front and broke every single one of them.

My shrink tells me that I'm not a bad person; that I just have anger management issues. I got sent to him after my parents once again had to come get me from where my cop uncle had once again handcuffed me to his desk. Nasty bastard. They thinks he's doing me a favor--I think he's just lazy and pathetic. Plus my parents give him a generous Christmas check every year, which is just further incentive for him to keep me out of jail and stay in their good graces.

I take a paperweight off of my uncle's desk. It's mostly clear with white blue swirls, your typical souvenir from some silly trip to the beach. It's heavy--he's got a lot of papers on his desk, but the paperweight isn't being used to hold any of them down. Besides--aren't cops supposed to be out in the streets, saving people or whatever the fuck they do? Why is this lazy bastard sitting on his fat ass behind some cheap little desk piled high with papers instead of out on the streets trying to save some poor innocent kid like me from themselves? Or, better yet, how about he go and stop a gang war? Stop two kids on the street from gunning each other down? Why is he sitting behind his desk looking at piles and piles and piles of paper?

I smirk at my reflection in his computer screen monitor, hoist the paperweight up (come on, you can't tell me you didn't see this coming...) and toss it through the glass screen. Sparks fly out from it and I laugh as it falls off the desk, scattering papers everywhere as it goes down--way to take others down with it, I think, and that makes me even more proud of the monitor that I've just destroyed.

I sit back down in my uncle's chair and wait for him to return, smiling to myself.